


A Court of Shadows and Hope

by herondick



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Canon Compliant, Dark, Family, Hope, Hurt, Love, Multi, Original Character(s), Possible smut, Sad, Tags might change, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28558029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herondick/pseuds/herondick
Summary: The life of Azriel, our favorite Spymaster. From his birth, all the way to the present, follow his journey through his father's keep, Windhaven, meeting Rhys and Cassian, the War, and so much more. Azriel hasn't had an easy life, and his story needs to be told.
Relationships: Amren & Azriel (ACoTaR), Azriel & Cassian & Rhysand (ACoTaR), Azriel & Morrigan (ACoTaR), Azriel & Rhysand (ACoTaR), Azriel/Cassian (ACoTaR), Azriel/Rhysand's Father (ACoTaR), Azriel/Rhysand's Mother (ACoTaR), Azriel/Rhysand's Sister (ACoTaR), Elain Archeron/Azriel, Feyre Archeron & Azriel
Comments: 20
Kudos: 58





	1. Birth

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> This is my first ACoTaR fic, and I'm very excited to write it and to tell Az's story!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The birth of our favorite Spymaster, Azriel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, and welcome! This is my first ACoTaR fic, and I'm so excited to write it.  
> I hope you all enjoy!

The wind roared outside of the small tent, and the heavily pregnant woman on the small cot inside groaned.

The nursemaid at her side rubbed her back soothingly. “It’s all right, Aesira,” she murmured softly. “Breathe. That’s right. In and out. Just like that.”

Aesira groaned again, but this time she tried to be quieter. She wanted to be brave and strong. She didn’t want to seem weak, even though she was about to give birth.

“How much longer?” Aesira asked, forcing her voice to remain even. It had been hours since the pain had begun, and the liquid had poured from between her legs. The cramping had slowly gotten worse, the intervals between the cramps growing shorter and shorter.

At first, it honestly hadn’t been that bad, but now Aesira’s dark hair clung to her face with sweat, and the sheets around her were wound so tight she felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

The nursemaid clicked her tongue. “Lie back so I can check.”

Aesira followed her orders, rolling onto her back despite the horrible pain rolling through her lower back and stomach. She let her clipped wings lie flaccidly over the side of the bed, not bothering with the strength to keep them from touching the ground. She fought through the layers and layers of blankets covering her body, pushing them away so her naked body was exposed. She spread her legs, bending them at the knees. “Go ahead,” she gasped, closing her eyes as the pain took over.

As the nursemaid fondled between her legs, checking to see how long it would be, Aesira let her mind wander to a night months ago. She remembered the night Lord Garbhan, the camp lord, had entered the kitchen where she had been working. He had been all wings and anger, giving commands and orders, but there had still been a rough beauty to him. His shoulder-length black hair had been tied back, his hazel eyes full of commanding rage. Aesira had quickly lowered her eyes at the sudden arrival of the male, but not before he had caught her gaze. His eyes had softened slightly at the sight of her, but he had recovered quickly, finishing what he came to do, then leaving in a storm of wings and shadows.

She remembered how, later that night, the camp lord had entered her tent, devouring her with kisses and pleasure so great she had thought her body would surely combust. There had been many nights following where he would visit her, leaving her sweaty and satisfied between the sheets.

Then, a few months later, Aesira had been informed she was with child. Lord Garbhan’s child. Lord Garbhan, who was married with two children of his own.

What had she done?

“It won’t be long now. When you feel the need to push, let me know,” the nursemaid said, rising from between Aesira’s legs.

Aesira suddenly felt a wave of numbness wash over her. She took a deep breath, then lowered her hands to her swollen belly. “How could I have been so stupid?” she asked, only really talking to herself. “Why did I let him.. why didn’t I fight back?”

The nursemaid rubbed Aesira’s legs, soothing her with her soft hands. “You did nothing wrong. These Illyrian males think they own every female in this camp. They fuck whoever they want, and they don’t give a damn about the consequences,” she said, her voice carrying an edge that Aesira hadn’t heard. At Aesira’s expression, the other female softened her voice. “You did what you had to so you would survive. And now, you must do what is required to keep your child healthy and safe, no matter who the father is. You are a strong and brave woman, Aesira. There is no need to feel any shame over this.”

Aesira couldn’t help but feel as if this wasn’t the first time the nursemaid had said these words. They sounded practiced, and she wondered how many other unmarried females she had recited them to.

She was right about one thing, at least. She would do whatever she needed to make sure her child was safe, happy, and cared for. She knew it would be a challenge, given the circumstances, but Aesira had never been one to shy away from a challenge.

Aesira’s thoughts were interrupted as pain ripped through her lower abdomen, and she felt the sudden urge to relieve herself. “I think- “she stammered, “I think I need to push.”

The nursemaid smiled softly, settling herself between Aesira’s legs. “All right,” she said, smoothing the blankets down, preparing for the baby’s arrival. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Aesira spread her legs, bringing her knees up, gripping them from behind. She waited until the pain tore through her again, and she pushed.

“Good girl,” the nursemaid cooed. “Good, good girl.”

Aesira barely heard her over the pounding in her ears. The pain was blinding, but she knew it would be worth it.

For what seemed like hours, Aesira would push, then rest when her body let her. During the time she was resting, her mind would wander back to memories over the last few months.

She thought about the day she told Lord Garbhan she was carrying his child.

Surprisingly, he hadn’t been angry. He had only seemed detached. Emotionless.

“I’ll keep you away from the camp,” he had said. “Away from everyone else. You’ll receive the required medical care when you need it. You’ll be all right,” he had said finally, forcing a smile on his face. After that, he had walked away, and Aesira had barely seen him since.

She remembered the first time she felt her child move inside her, the slight flutter in her belly that made her heart swell with surprising joy. “I will protect you all the days of my life, little one,” she had whispered. “I love you, my child.”

Once again, pain pulled her from her thoughts, and she pushed again, ignoring the sweat pouring down her back and face. After a few moments, she felt it. The relief as her baby entered the world.

Then, she heard the soft cries, and she swore she saw the shadows in the tent dance at the sound.

The nursemaid raised the baby up, covered in blood, and declared, “It’s a boy! A healthy baby boy. All ten fingers and toes.”

There was a dark undertone to her voice, and Aesira understood. A bastard. A bastard baby boy.

Aesira reached her arms out for her baby, wanting to hold him in her arms. “Let me see him. I want to hold him.”

The nursemaid gently laid the infant on Aesira’s bare chest, cleaning him as she did so. “He’s perfect. Good coloring. And,” she said as the baby continued to scream, “a good set of lungs.”

Aesira looked down at her baby, and she felt the tears spill down her cheeks as the pain dissipated into an unconditional and unyielding love. He had a full head of black hair, and she bent down to kiss it. “My baby,” she murmured. “My baby.”

The nursemaid had focused her attention to the afterbirth. “Do you have a name?”

Aesira had pondered some names, but she truly hadn’t given much thought. The past months had felt like a dream, and she sometimes felt as if she were living someone else’s life.

But now, as she laid in her cot with her baby in her arms, reality slammed into her, and it was the greatest awakening imaginable. “Azriel,” she said, her voice strong. “His name is Azriel.” After the god of Death, for she knew, somehow, her child would be feared and would wreak havoc among his enemies.

A few hours later, the nursemaid had cleaned Aesira and Azriel, and both mother and son rested in the small tent. The wind outside had stilled, leaving only a chilling quiet. The shadows in the tent settled around Aesira and her baby, casting their darkness all around, as if they were challenging anyone to try and harm them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos and comments, and tell me what you think!


	2. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azriel is allowed to see his mother on a very special day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting two days in a row! Whew! I hope you guys enjoy! (I really have a soft spot for Azriel's mother, and I wish she could be happy.)

Azriel was alone.

But, then again, he was always alone, except for the shadows that seemed to call to him day and night.

Azriel, Azriel, Azriel, they called out, their voices not really carrying a solid shape or tone. Nonetheless, he still heard the shadows, and he sometimes wondered if he was losing his mind.

Maybe that was why his father despised his son’s existence, or why his stepmother and half-brothers were viciously cruel to him. Maybe that was why he was kept away from everyone, even his own mother, locked up in a windowless cell with no light.

Azriel was allowed an hour of freedom each day, and no more than that. He was never able to roam far into his father’s camp, since his stepmother did not want anyone to really acknowledge his existence, so he usually just perched himself on the steps outside. He would just sit in total silence as his stepmother watched from a distance, letting the sun wash over him and his tiny wings. He would soak in the usually chilled air, breathing in deeply until coldness caused his lungs and throat to burn. He would enjoy his freedom, until he was thrown back into his cell, all sunshine and happiness ripped away from him as fast as it was given.

Every week, for one hour, Azriel was allowed to see his mother. It was the best hour of his week. In fact, he would give up all his other hours, for the rest of his life, just to spend more time with his mother.

Even though he was young, Azriel knew his mother was mistreated and overworked. Every week, he watched as she withered away, becoming more withdrawn and quieter. Her once beautiful tan skin had become sallow and pale, and her hands were full of blisters and calluses.

Azriel had sworn a vow to himself, that one day, when he was older and stronger, he would get his mother out of this place. He would take her to a place full of love and light; a place she deserved.

Azriel was so caught up in his thoughts he did not even realize the door to the cell had opened, and his stepmother stood on the threshold, her body outlined by the sunlight outside. “Get up, bastard,” she spat, her voice full of hatred. “It’s time for you to see your whore of a mother.”

Hanging his head, Azriel stood from his spot in the corner of the cell. The room was incredibly small, only allowing enough room for a small cot and wardrobe, so it didn’t take long for him to reach his stepmother. He looked up at her, his eyes wide as he took in her towering frame. When he was this close to her, he could smell her reeking scent of smoke and mud, and he could see how her face twisted with disgust as she looked down at him.

Azriel wondered how one look could make you feel so small and utterly worthless. So alone.

His stepmother grabbed him roughly by his arm, dragging him out of his cell. “Let’s go,” she ordered. “I don’t have time to be waiting on a bastard all day.” She led him outside, down the steps, and into the camp.

The sun was bright, causing Azriel to blink his eyes to adjust. The day was bitterly cold, and he wished he was given warmer clothes, but his stepmother would never allow it. She never allowed him anything. He had never even been given a toy, or a book.

Azriel was kept away from the rest of the camp. His cell sat on the western edge of the camp, far away from the other Illyrians. But his stepmother had made sure he was close enough to hear the warriors train. As he sat alone in his cell, he could hear their grunts as they sparred. He could hear the clashing of swords, and all the instincts in his tiny body had screamed at him to join in.

Now, as they walked towards the center of the camp, Azriel could see the Illyrian males in the sparring ring. At the sight of them, his instincts roared at him, but he fought them back.

His stepmother must have noticed him staring because she said, “Don’t even bother looking at them. Bastards like you aren’t worthy enough to enter the sparring ring with the pure warriors.”

Azriel didn’t respond. He only lowered his eyes, and he followed his stepmother deeper into the camp. In the corner of his eye, he thought he could see shadows following them.

\--

His mother worked in the kitchens in the center of the camp. While it wasn’t the worst place to work, it definitely wasn’t the best. It was rough labor, with long hours and high standards, and if those standards weren’t met…

Azriel and his stepmother walked up to the door that led into the kitchen, and he could feel the heat from the many stoves inside through the door. Already, his black hair was beginning to curl against his temples with sweat.

How could his mother work in this?

His stepmother pushed the door open and practically threw him inside. “One hour,” she spat and turned away, walking back the same way they had come.

Azriel turned towards the kitchen, taking in his surroundings. There were about ten Illyrian females working in the small space. Some of them were cleaning, while the others were preparing lunch. All of them had their wings tucked in, but Azriel could see the mutilation along the membrane and tissue.

None of these females would ever take to the skies again. They were trapped in a life of service and childrearing.

Azriel saw his mother working at one of the tables in the corner. She was bent over, her beautiful face twisted in concentration. Her black hair was tied back into a bun, but some of it was stuck to her face and neck with sweat.

“Mama!” Azriel yelled, running over to his mother. The other females made a path for him so there would be no obstacle. Even they knew how precious this time was.

His mother turned at the sound of his voice, a bright smile breaking across her face. “Oh, Azriel! My sweet boy!” She opened her arms, and Azriel happily threw himself into them. “Oh, I’ve missed you.”

Azriel buried his face into his mother’s neck. He found comfort in her scent of lavender and sweat. She smelt like home and love to him. “I missed you too, mama.”

She squeezed him once, then released him. She began to look him over, running her eyes and hands over him, checking to make sure he was alright. “I wish they would feed you more. You’re so small.”

Most days, Azriel would be lucky to receive even one meal. They gave him enough food to keep him alive, but not nourished. He was indeed small, smaller than the other boys in the camp his age. But that was just one of the many things that separated him from the pure Illyrians here.

His mother shook her head. “Now, enough of that,” she said, smiling down at him. “Today is a special day for you, my son.”

Azriel furrowed his dark brows. “What day is it?”

“On this day, six years ago, my world changed forever,” his mother whispered, running a finger down his cheek. “It was the day you were born. Happy birthday, my Azriel.”

Azriel hadn’t known it was his birthday. He was honestly surprised his stepmother even allowed him to leave his cell, but he wasn’t going to question it. “I love you, mama,” he said finally.

“I love you more than you could ever imagine,” she said. She stood then and turned back to the table she had been working at. When she turned back to Azriel, she was holding a small plate. On it sat a tiny cake, covered with pink icing. “I made this for you. It’s strawberry. If I remember correctly, that’s your favorite.”

Strawberry was Azriel’s favorite, though he was rarely able to indulge himself. But now, he reached up and grabbed the place with his tiny, childlike hands. “Thank you, mama!”

His mother ran a hand through his hair. “Go on, try it. We don’t have much time.” Her voice carried a sadness that Azriel barely understood. She pulled him over to the table and helped him into one of the chairs. “Eat.”

Azriel lifted the tiny cake to his lips and took a bite. He groaned softly at the taste, taking his time so he could enjoy the sweetness of the treat.

His mother chuckled. “I take it that you like it. That’s good.” She began to fold the dishtowels sitting in front of them on the table. “I made it with tons of love, just for you.” She winked at him.

The two of them sat in silence as Azriel finished his cake. Once he was done, his mother cleared the plate away, as if she couldn’t stand the thought of any extra dirty dishes.

Once she was done, she pulled him into a tight hug. She leaned down into his ear, whispering so none of the other females could hear. “How are you? Are the shadows- can you still hear them?”

A few weeks ago, during their visit, Azriel had finally told his mom that he thought he could hear the shadows in his cell speaking to him. He had been scared and embarrassed, but his mother has been nothing other than kind and reassuring.

“There is nothing wrong with you, my sweet. Nothing at all,” she had said.

Azriel saw that kindness in her hazel eyes now. He nodded his head. “Yes, I hear them. They scare me sometimes.”

She cupped his tiny face in her callused hands. “You are so special, Azriel. From the moment I laid my eyes on you, I knew it.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Don’t let the shadows scare you, love. Own them. Control them. They’re a part of you.”

Azriel pulled away, confusion dancing across his features. “What do you mean, mama?”

His mother smiled sweetly at him. “Later. I’ll tell you later.” She glanced up at the clock on the wall. “We’re out of time.”

Right on cue, the door to the kitchen swung open, and Azriel’s stepmother appeared in the doorway. “Time’s up. Let’s go.”

His mother pulled him into a quick hug. “I love you. I love you so much. Remember what I told you. Don’t be afraid. Never be afraid.”

Azriel nodded his head quickly. He hopped down from the chair, stretching his tiny wings. “I love you, too mama. I won’t be afraid.”

“Go on, or she’ll get angry.”

With one last look at his mother, Azriel turned towards the door. His stepmother looked as angry as ever, and she glared at him. “Come on, bastard.”

Azriel followed her out of the kitchen and into the cold air of Illyria. Once again, he lowered his eyes, ignoring the sounds of the warriors training around the camp. He walked up the steps leading into the cell, and he didn’t make a sound as his stepmother threw him inside and locked the door.

In the darkness of his prison, Azriel allowed the quiet tears to fall down his cheeks. He curled his tiny wings around himself, as if they could protect him from the pain he was feeling. The shadows danced behind his closed eyes, calling to him.

Azriel was alone, as he always would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos and comments, and tell me what you guys think!<3


	3. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azriel's half-brothers torture him, leaving his hands permanently scarred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little dark, as it contains torture and abuse!   
> I hope you enjoy!

_They’re coming. They’re coming_. The shadows were almost screaming at Azriel, their darkness surrounding him. _Hide. Hide_.

Azriel felt a deep churning in his gut. He knew who the shadows were referring to: his evil half-brothers, Laurent and Balor. They were the true, pure-bred sons of his father. They hated him, just like everyone else, and they made sure to make his life a living hell.

For as long as Azriel could remember, they had tortured and abused him, never missing an opportunity to cause him some form of pain. On one occasion, they had snuck up on him during his one hour of freedom. They had grabbed him and dragged him up to the roof of his own cell. His stepmother had adverted her eyes, of course, acting as if she couldn’t see anything. But Azriel knew better than that.

Once the boys got him to the roof, they pushed him off, screaming at him as he fell. “Fly! Fly, you bastard!” they yelled, laughing hysterically. They knew Azriel couldn’t fly, and all of this was a sick joke to cause him pain.

As Azriel fell, he tried to fly, flapping his wings in uncoordinated motions. Despite his best efforts, he collided with the ground with painful force, knocking the breath from his lungs. He even cried out, which caused his half-brothers to laugh even harder. Nobody came to help him to his feet, and he spent the last of his hour lying on the ground as his body healed. 

The shadows continued their chorus of warning, seeming to wrap themselves around Azriel’s body in protection. He stood and backed up against the wall until his wings barked in protest. He steadied his breathing, and he focused his eyes on the small sliver of light that appeared from under the door.

After a few moments, the sliver of light widened as the door opened, and his half-brothers walked into the cell. Both were a few years older than Azriel, and they were bigger than him. They had been allowed to train and fly, and their bodies were strong and muscular as a result. Their wings were tucked in, but the talons on each tip gleamed.

They looked like they would be strong Illyrian warriors one day, and Azriel couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy he felt at the thought.

A low chuckle reverberated throughout the darkness. “Just look at him,” one of them said. Azriel figured it was Laurent, the eldest brother, as he was usually the first one to speak. “He looks so … scared.”

Azriel straightened. He didn’t want to look scared or weak in front of them. “What do you want from me?” he asked, forcing his voice to sound strong.

“Why do you think we want something from you?” the younger one, Balor, asked. His voice was as smooth as silk, and fear shot through Azriel. Balor was a master manipulator, and his weapons were words. “Maybe we just want to pay our dear brother a visit to see how he’s faring.”

The door slammed shut, casting the three boys in darkness. Shadows skittered across the room, but Azriel had a feeling he was the only one who could see them. “Well, as you can see, I am quite well,” he said, lying through his teeth. He was quite the opposite, but he would never let anyone know that.

There was a sound of something scratching against wood: a match being lit, followed by a candle. The new light allowed Azriel to see his half-brother’s faces, and he cringed inwardly. There was no joy or kindness on their features, and their lips were twisted in twin smiles laced with anger and hatred.

“We’re glad to hear it,” Laurent answered. He turned to his brother, and his grin widened to a full-blown smile. “Shall we show the bastard the gift we brought him?”

The shadows were practically screaming at Azriel now. _Run! Run! Run!_

“Oh! Yes!” Balor exclaimed. He shifted his weight, bringing something from behind his back. It was a bucket full of a liquid Azriel couldn’t recognize. Balor raised it slightly, angling it towards Azriel. “We brought this gift, just for you. Though, I will admit, we will probably get more enjoyment out of it.”

Azriel struggled to breathe. Fear was coursing through his veins, and he darted his eyes across the cell, searching for any way to escape. The only way out was through the door, which was currently blocked by his half-brothers. He was trapped.

Laurent took a step forward. “What? Not even a thanks for our gratitude?” He clicked his tongue. “You bastards are such brutes. No manners whatsoever. Maybe that’s why nobody will ever want you.”

Azriel clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to attack them. It would do him no good, and he would surely lose. Finally, he said, “Thank you for the gift. But I must decline. I have enough gifts and have no desire for more.” Lie. He had nothing.

“Declining is not an option, I’m afraid,” Balor said, walking up to Azriel. As he got closer, Azriel could smell the scent coming from the bucket. It was dark and rich, and it seemed oddly familiar.

“My brother is right,” Laurent said, walking up to Balor to throw an arm over his shoulder. He still held the candle firm in his other hand, and the flame cast an eerie glow on his tan face. “Would you care to know what led us to the decision to bless you with this gift?”

Azriel didn’t want to know, but he nodded anyway.

“Last night, two of the warriors in the camp got into a little fight. Oh, it was brutal, and both of them suffered grave injuries. Honestly, we didn’t think either of them would live to see the daylight. Then, this morning, both warriors were back in the sparring ring. Good as new.” He glanced over at his brother, withdrawing his arm from his shoulder. “Illyrians are blessed with fast healing capabilities. It helps us in battle,” he drawled, his voice sounding like he was teaching a class of Illyrian whelps. “We wonder, though, how far those capabilities can go.”

Balor put the bucket on the ground at Azriel’s feet. “Put your hands in the bucket, bastard,” he commanded.

Azriel clenched his hands at his sides, not giving in. He stared down at the bucket, at the thick liquid sloshing back and forth, and he felt nauseated. “No,” he said simply.

Laurent’s eyes widened in surprise. “No?” He huffed a harsh laugh. “Balor, he just told us no. Hmm. Maybe the bastard has balls after all.” He walked forward until he was in Azriel’s face. “You will do as you’re told, you worthless piece of shit, or your dear mother will suffer the consequences. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Azriel’s blood ran cold. “Don’t touch her,” he said, his voice full of icy rage. “You will not touch her.”

Balor chuckled. “You will not tell us what to do. But, if you do as we say right now, we promise to leave that whore alone.” He pointed down at the bucket. “Hands. Now.”

Azriel knew that if he didn’t do what they wanted, his mother would be hurt. He didn’t even want to think of what they would do to her, so he fought to block the images from his mind. She had suffered enough, and he would do anything to lessen her pain.

“What’s in the bucket?” he asked. He knew they probably wouldn’t tell him, but it was worth the risk.

Laurent chuckled. “Does it matter if we told you? Stick your hands in and find out.”

Perhaps it was some sort of acid that would melt Azriel’s skin off his hands in a second, or maybe it was simply molasses, and his half-brothers just wanted to spark fear in him. Either way, he had no choice but to put his hands in. His mother’s safety was on the line. 

He sank down to his knees, ignoring the shadows as they pleaded with him. _Don’t! Please don’t!_

He raised his small hands, and for a second, he allowed himself to stare at them. They were pale and unscarred from his lack of sunlight and training. His nails were short, and he could see the dirt crusted underneath them. These were the hands his mother had held and kissed during their visits, and he felt his throat tighten at the thought.

“On with it,” Balor spat, his impatience growing.

With a deep breath, Azriel plunged his hands into the bucket, and he waited. He waited for pain, for tingling, really anything. But it never came. The liquid was warm and thick, but Azriel felt absolutely nothing as his hands sat in the bucket. “What is this?” he asked again, hoping this time he would get an answer.

“It’s oil,” Balor answered simply. He grabbed Azriel by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. He patted him on the shoulder once, then walked around to stand beside his brother.

“You- you wanted me to plunge my hands into a bucket of oil. Why?” The oil dripped from Azriel’s hands onto the ground.

A smile was beginning to form on both of their lips, but Laurent was the one who spoke, “Funny you should ask that.” The cell was silent, and Azriel swore even the shadows had went quiet. “Tell me, bastard, do you know what happens when you mix oil with certain elements, like fire?”

Balor rolled his eyes. “Stop stalling, brother. I’m growing bored. Besides, he’s too much of an idiot to know anything besides sleeping and taking a shit. I’m surprised he can even speak at all.”

“My apologies,” Laurent said as he began to lower the candle. The flame flickered against the wind, and Azriel was frozen in fear. “I hope you heal fast, bastard.”

Before Azriel could move, or even breathe, Laurent lowered the candle to his hands, and they erupted in flames.

For a moment, Azriel could only stare in silent horror at his burning hands. It wasn’t until he could smell his burning flesh that he allowed a scream to escape from his lips. All at once, the unbearable pain consumed him, causing him to vomit and retch.

He dropped back to his knees, rolling his hands in the dirt of his cell to try and put out the flames. They only seemed to grow higher, and Azriel felt the tears pour down his face as his screaming became louder and more hoarse.

He sat back against this wall, and his wings were crushed by the movement, but he didn’t care. Through his screaming and pain, he could hear his half-brothers laughing hysterically. He couldn’t make out a sentence, but he heard certain words. “Burns” “Bastard” “Scars” “Worthless”

“Please!” he begged. “Please put it out! Please, please!”

The boys laughed. “Look at how the bastard begs,” one of them said.

He was reaching a point of unconsciousness now, and he welcomed it; it would give him relief from this horrible pain. He barely noticed the door bursting open as two of his father’s warriors stormed into the cell. He barely noticed as Laurent and Balor slipped from the cell, their wrongdoings going unnoticed and unpunished, as usual.

The warriors put out the flames that consumed his hands and gathered him up. “It’s all right,” one of them cooed, and Azriel wanted to vomit at the forced kindness in his voice. “We’ll get you to a healer.”

As he was carried from his cell, Azriel felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. He didn’t even feel the pain of his raw and scorched hands. He didn’t feel the tears as they fell in a continuous stream down his cheeks, or the shuddering, breathless sobs that tore their way through his chest.

He only felt the shadows as they surrounded him, calling to him. _Sleep now. We’ve got you._ They wrapped their darkness around him in a blanket of calm.

Finally, as he was carried away, Azriel closed his eyes and let the shadows take him away from this horrible place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, please leave kudos and comments, and feel free to let me know what you guys would like to see in this fic. I'm open to ideas!<3


	4. Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his hands are mutilated by his brothers, Azriel has had enough. It is time to claim and control his weapon, his shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm so sorry it has taken me such a long time to update! Life gets crazy sometimes, and we have to just roll with the punches.   
> Anyways, this chapter is a little dark and angsty, but I felt it was a pivotal point in Az's story. I hope you enjoy!   
> Disclaimer: the story and world belongs to SJM!  
> Also, only 2 more days till ACOSF! I'm so excited to be back in the world of ACOTAR, but mostly I'm ready to see my favorite Shadowsinger.;)  
> What theories do you guys have about the new book?

As Azriel opened his eyes, he took in the darkness of his cell. After years of living in this horrid prison, one would think he would be used to it, but he wasn’t. He would never get used to the thick darkness surrounding him. He would never get used to the shadows that seemed to call to him, day and night.

There was one thing he had become accustomed to, though: feeling utterly worthless.

He was nothing.

A _bastard._

Azriel often wondered what he had done to become so hated. It was not his fault that he had been born to a woman out of wedlock. If his father had not wanted a bastard son, why had he taken Azriel’s mother to bed?

These were the thoughts that kept Azriel up at night, and each night he became more angry. He was angry at his father for treating his mother like a whore and using her as such. He was angry at his horrible stepmother for locking him in this cell, for starving him, for treating him like he was worth nothing. He was angry at himself for not fighting back, for his own well-being and his mother’s. He was angry with his half-brothers for what they had done to his hands.

_Oh, his hands._

Months ago, they had entered his cell and set his hands on fire, claiming they were testing the gifts of fast healing in Illyrians. Azriel’s hands had healed, eventually. But the healer could do nothing for the scars, though.

Now, his hands were rough, filled with rigid lines and scarring from that horrible night. They served as a painful reminder of his worthlessness.

No one would ever want him or love him now. Even his own mother had cringed at the sight of her son’s ruined hands. It was during that visit with her that Azriel had felt the most pain. Not his own, but his mother’s. His brief conversation with her had played through his head every single day, and he knew he would never forget it.

_“I’m so sorry, my boy,” she had said through her sobs. “This is all my fault. My fault.”_

_Azriel shook his head, his black hair falling in his eyes. “No, mama. You could have done nothing to stop it,” he whispered._

_She stared at his hands, still red and swollen from healing. Her eyes were full of horror and pain and guilt as she spoke, “You do not deserve this. You are good, and pure, and you are the light of my life. If I could,” she said, stopping for a moment as her sobs took over, “I would take you, and we would leave this horrible place. We would go far away to a place full of happiness and light. I would sacrifice myself to get you out of here, Azriel.”_

_At her words, Azriel reached for her hand, but he pulled back. His mother was full of too much goodness to be touched by an abomination like him._

_His mother did not notice his hesitance, and she went on, “But this- this is my fault. I should have run away as soon as I found out I was with child. If I had known that it would be like this…” she stopped again and looked him in the eyes. Her hazel eyes were red-rimmed and full of tears, and he could feel his heart breaking at the sight. “I was so scared, and alone. Your father swore to me that he would protect you and treat you like the others. Oh, my sweet boy, please forgive me! I did this. I did this.”_

_Before he could even think, Azriel launched himself forward and wrapped his arms around his mother. Her thin body was shaking from her sobs, and he tried to use all his strength to calm her down. “This is not your fault, mother,” he said. He did not even recognize his own voice. It sounded cold and dark, and it scared him, but he went on. “I will get us out. I will get you out.”_

_His mother pulled away and gave him a soft smile. With gentle hands, she pushed his hair out of his face, and then she leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “You are so strong, my son. Stronger than anyone I have ever met. I just need you to make me a promise.”_

_Azriel nodded once. “Anything.”_

_His mother’s eyes hardened, the spots of green in her eyes disappearing as if shadows had swallowed them up. “When you make it out of this place, give them hell. Show now mercy to those who have hurt you.”_

Since that visit with his mother, Azriel’s head had been filled with an icy silence. It was an endless void of rage and pain, and every day he could feel himself fall deeper and deeper into the darkness and shadows. He had found he no longer cared when his half-brothers came to his cell to taunt him. He would usually just lay in his cot and ignore them until they left.

It was almost like he was claiming this decrepit darkness as a part of himself. It would be fitting, he thought. A boy locked away in darkness and silence, finally owning up to his worthlessness.

Azriel closed his eyes, breathing deep. He let his mind roam, thinking of the ways he would torture those who had hurt him and his mother. Would it be slow and painful? Quick and easy? Oh, the possibilities were endless.

_Give them hell. Show no mercy._

He let his never-ended rage wash over him, filling his mind and body. He let his anger become a beacon in the darkness, and he held onto it, honing it until he could almost feel it.

It was then that he felt the shadows begin to move around him. Even though his cell was completely dark, he could see them swirling and swirling.

_Give them hell. Show no mercy_ , they whispered to him. _We can help you._

“Shut up,” Azriel gritted out. It was the first time he had ever spoken back to the shadows. It was the first time he had ever even acknowledged them.

The shadows began to swirl around him faster, as if they too knew this was the first time he had answered back. _You do not want us, yet you speak to us. Why?_ They sounded terrifying, Azriel thought. Like the whispers of the dead had crafted a way to speak.

Azriel ground his teeth together, still full of that unyielding rage. “This is my mission. I will do this. Alone.”

The shadows chuckled. _Chuckled_.

_We can help you. Will you let us show you what we can do?_

Azriel gripped his torn sheets in his scarred hands. They were shadows. What harm could they do?

Maybe it was his loneliness, or maybe it was his helplessness that caused him to finally say, “Very well.”

The shadows surrounded him then, cocooning him in a blanket of darkness. He could feel them skittering along his face, neck, and arms. Despite his surge of terror, Azriel could not deny he felt safe as the shadows surrounded him. Then the vision started.

First, he saw his mother working in the kitchens. He could see her dark hair pasted to her brow with sweat, her gentle hands red and scorched from the boiling water in the pans. He saw the purple bruises spotting her pale face and neck from punishments. He could even _feel_ her. He felt her sadness, her guilt. It was too much for him.

“Stop it,” he whispered to the shadows. “Stop this.”

The visions did not stop. He saw his father sitting behind a desk, papers strewn out in front of him. He saw his stepmother tormenting the younger females in the camp, claiming they were not doing a good enough job. He even saw his half-brothers in the sparring ring, attempting to master some sort of long bow.

He saw the hustle and bustle of the camp, the Illyrians going about their daily tasks. It was then that Azriel realized that he was looking at the camp as it was, like he had left his cell and began floating through it. He could see and feel everything. It was the most freedom he had felt in his entire life.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the shadows let him go. With a gasp, Azriel sat up, his wings fluttering behind him. Sweat rolled down his face, and he wiped it away with a scarred hand. “What- what was that? How did you- “he broke off.

_We are visions and eyes. Voices and spies. We know all, and we tell you what you need. We can take you to the darkest places. We can bring down your enemies with a thought. We are the shadows of death, the shadows of life. We are everything and nothing. You only need to claim us, and we will be yours._

Azriel was silent. These- these shadows could be his. His to master and use. Still, he could not help the feeling of terror that surged through him at what would happen if anyone found out. How would his half-brothers react when they learned he could use shadows to torment them? His stepmother? His father? Hell, how would his own mother react?

As if they could read his mind, the shadows said, _Do not be afraid. No one will hurt you again. You mother, she knows you are special._

Long ago, his mother had told him as much. She had told him not to be afraid of the shadows. She had commanded him to own them, control them. They were his.

Slowly, Azriel laid back down on his cot, spreading his wings behind him. He threw the blankets away from his body, exposing himself to the darkness.

_Do you claim us, master?_ The shadows whispered into this ear.

He closed his eyes, and let his mind go back to that dark place. That place filled with unyielding rage and torment. It did not take long for him to feel the hot tears pour down his cheeks, the only sign of his frustration.

_Give them hell. Show no mercy._ He recited those words to himself over and over again, until he felt nothing except the shadows surrounding him.

_Claim us. Claim us._

The shadows seemed to grow, filling the entirety of his cell. They gifted him with visions of places filled with light and love, the life he could have. He saw kind people and beautiful faces, a reminder that there was happiness in the world.

Azriel had been weak for far too long. He had let his mother suffer unimaginable things. He had let his half-brothers and stepmother terrorize him, and he had never tried to fight back.

He would no longer be a pawn in their games. He would no longer be a toy for their amusement.

One final time, the shadows gathered around him, filling his mind and body with their presence. _Claim us!_

Azriel opened his eyes, letting the darkness wash over him completely.

“I claim you,” he said, his voice cold and dark. “You’re mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeellll, Az has finally claimed his shadows! Obviously, we don't know how his Shadowsinger abilities came about, so I'm just letting my imagination roam with this one.   
> Only another chapter or two before we go to the next destination of Az's journey: Windhaven!  
> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated!!


	5. Shadowsinger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All rights go to SJM!  
> I hope you enjoy!

The camp was unusually loud this morning, the shrieks and laughter of its occupants echoing off the various buildings within. A fresh snow had fallen overnight, and all the children, and some of the warriors, were taking advantage of it. Some of them were having snowball fights, while others were lying on the ground and moving their arms and legs, making imprints in the snow.

Azriel, of course, had been forbidden to join in on the fun. Not that he really wanted to, anyway. Even from his spot under the tree, located just to the right of the sparring rings, he could hear the camp mothers begin to chastise everyone for playing.

“Stop this nonsense at once!” Edda, the head camp mother, screamed over the laughter. “We have chores to do! And some of you,” she said, narrowing her eyes at two males, “need to get back to training!”

With a glance at each other, the two males tucked in their wings and sauntered off to the one of the weapon racks. Without looking back at Edda, they each grabbed a long sword and walked into the ring to begin their morning exercises.

_Smart males_ , Azriel thought. It was best to stay on Edda’s good side, as she was known for her cruel punishments to anyone who disobeyed her orders. In fact, she was usually the one punished Azriel’s mother when she did not meet Edda’s high standards.

Azriel hated the female. But, then again, he hated mostly everyone.

Azriel leaned back against the tree, ignoring the pain shooting through his wings from the movement. His wings drooped to the ground, small and useless, unlike the wings of the warriors who now occupied the sparring rings beside him. He could not help the spark of jealousy that ran through him at the sight of their mighty wings, all strong and healthy.

It took Azriel a painful amount of effort to even keep his wings from dragging the ground when he walked. He had tried to move them as often as he could, raising them and tucking them in, but his back muscles were nowhere near strong enough. Still, he tried, even when his eyes burned from his tears at the pain.

There was one thing, though, Azriel had that those Illyrians with their strong bodies and mighty wings did not: his shadows. Over the last three years, he had worked with those shadows, learning how to control and wield them. It had been difficult at first, being constantly surrounded by that darkness. It had taken him a while to become used to his shadows constantly speaking to him, whispering in his ear in the silence of his cell. But now, he found their constant chattering more comforting than annoying. Even in the darkest of times, they had kept him company. They had protected him, loved him, claimed him as their master.

From the corner of his eye, Azriel could see his shadows hiding under a covering of snowcapped trees. The occupants of the camp had never seemed to notice the constant blanket of darkness and silence that seemed to pulse around him. Perhaps they just did not care. He had even managed to hide his secret from his mother, not wanting to risk her being punished if anyone found out. His mother had suffered enough, he’d be damned if he caused her anymore pain.

“Fifteen minutes,” a male voice murmured, shaking Azriel from his thoughts. He looked to his left, glaring at the guard who had been assigned to oversee his hour of freedom today. He had never seen the male before, and he fought back his chuckle at the sight of discontent on the warrior’s young face.

Azriel pondered remaining silent, but his curiosity got the best of him. He asked, “What did you do?” He had learned, a courtesy from his shadows, that guarding him was a punishment. Anytime a male angered his lord father, they would be assigned to watch over Azriel. Apparently, guarding a bastard was considered _embarrassing._

The male’s jaw flickered, and Azriel thought his question would go unanswered. But, after a few moments, he sighed and said, “He caught me trying to help one of the laundresses with her chores. I was trying to- “he stopped, searching for words. A softness that was unheard of in Illyrian males entered his voice as he said, “She needed help. She was behind on her work, and I did not want her to be punished.”

Azriel nodded once. “I see.”

The male looked Azriel up and down, a slight smile creeping onto his face. “My name is Caiden.”

Suddenly, Azriel wished he had never engaged in this conversation. “I imagine you know my name.”

Caiden lowered his head. “I do. I think everyone here knows who you are, bastard.” Even though his words were insulting, he spoke with a chuckle in his voice.

Azriel let out a breath, wishing he could call on his shadows to surround him. “I am glad to have gained a reputation,” was all he said.

Caiden’s hazel eyes lit with something akin to sadness. “I am… sorry. That you are treated like this. It isn’t right.” He indicated the door to the cell behind them. It was open, ready to take Azriel back into that overwhelming darkness. “Bastard or not, nobody should be locked away like some animal.”

Azriel looked over at Caiden, taking him in. At a closer glance, Azriel could see how young the male was. He looked no older than fourteen, maybe fifteen. For an Illyrian warrior, he was rather lanky, as if he did not take his training as seriously as the others. His windblown black hair went down to his chin, and his eyes were full of boyish mischief.

If Azriel had been born into another life, one that had not been full of so much pain and sorrow, Caiden might have been the type of male that Azriel would have considered a friend.

Azriel opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a whistle from behind. He turned his head, and his stomach lurched at who was approaching them.

Laurent and Balor swaggered towards them, a smug smile plastered on their faces. They were both dressed in fighting leathers, and Azriel could see the hilt of an Illyrian blade sheathed along their backs.

“Well, well,” Balor said, glancing between Azriel and Caiden. “Has the bastard managed to actually make a friend?” Azriel wondered how long the two of them had been listening to his and Caiden’s conversation.

Azriel dug his scarred hands into the snow, steadying his breathing. He would not let himself look scared in front of them. “We aren’t friends.” He ignored the slight look of hurt on Caiden’s face as he continued, “He was just telling me my hour is up.”

Laurent clicked his tongue, turning his full attention on Caiden. “Oh, is that so? Please, do not let us interfere with your… duties.” He laughed softly, knowing exactly how deep the words would slice.

To his credit, Caiden managed to hide any hurt, schooling his features into a mask of neutrality. “I happen to take my duties very seriously,” he said calmly. He stood, hauling Azriel up after him.

Balor chuckled. “It would seem so. Though, I don’t recall helping the females with their work being listed as one of them.”

Caiden’s hand tightened on Azriel’s shoulder, but he kept his face calm. “The bastard is right. Time’s up.” He began to walk Azriel towards the cell door, keeping the pace slow and controlled.

The door to his cell was only a few paces away, and Azriel could see his shadows dancing, preparing to welcome him home. _Come, come_ , they whispered to him. _Come home_ _now_.

But before they could reach the threshold, Azriel heard Balor call from behind, “We just came to tell the bastard about his mother. About her new arrangements.” 

Azriel stopped, waving away Caiden’s attempt to keep them walking. “What about my mother.” Not a question. He didn’t fight the darkness that crept into his voice at the words. He didn’t care.

Laurent snickered. “Our mother has gone to visit a neighboring camp to see a friend. Because of her absence, my father has requested some new help at the house. He said he has… needs that will have to be taken care of.”

Azriel’s heart thundered in his chest, and he found it difficult to breathe. Slowly, he turned to face his half-brothers. He clenched his fists at his side, fighting back to urge to wipe the smug smiles off their faces. “He will not touch her,” he said through gritted teeth.

Sensing where the conversation was going, Caiden once again tried to get Azriel in the cell. “Let’s go. Now,” he commanded. He gripped Azriel by the shoulders, meaning to drag him in, but Azriel pushed him off.

“Let go,” he said. “Don’t touch me.” There must have been enough coldness in Azriel’s voice because Caiden let go and took a step to the side.

“Our father may do whatever he pleases to the bitch,” Laurent continued on, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked Azriel up and down, searching for the words that would inflict the most pain. “Though, I doubt she would deny his advances, considering you’re here.”

Azriel knew this was a new game to them. A new form of torture. They had long ago given up on trying to harm him psychically. Whether it was from lack of caring or fear, Azriel did not know. Now, they tried to taunt him verbally. They never grew tired of calling him names or telling him how useless and worthless he was. They had even once told him he was better off dead, that his presence alone was a black stain upon the world.

Nothing they had said had ever shattered Azriel’s wall of cold indifference. Until now.

His mother. His beautiful, strong mother, being forced to _serve_ his father. Azriel was young, and did not know much, but he could take a guess at what _needs_ his horrible father would have her take care of.

From behind him, Azriel could feel his shadows darting for the door to the cell. They called out to him in whispers. _Let us out. We can protect you._

Balor walked up to Azriel, giving him a rough pat on the back. It was more his wings than his back, and Azriel grit his teeth against the pain from the slap. “Who knows?” Balor said, smiling cruelly. “One day, you might even have a brother or sister to join you in that cell.”

A deathly calm washed over Azriel. Distantly, he could hear Caiden’s voice. “That’s enough,” he was saying. “Stop it.”

They did not stop. They continued their taunting, and each word cut through Azriel like a blade.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have some company in there?”

_Bastard._

“Wouldn’t your dear mother enjoy some male company?”

_Useless._

“Don’t you want her to be happy for a while?”

_Nothing._

“Maybe he’ll even let us have a taste of her.”

Azriel exploded.

He launched himself at them, taking down Laurent in the process. He had no idea how to fight, how to use his body as a weapon, but his half-brothers did. They had trained for years, while Azriel had been locked away in that cell, rotting away.

In a smooth movement, Laurent rolled them, so he was on top of Azriel. He braced his forearm against Azriel’s neck, completely cutting off his airway. “Oh, you think you’re so high and mighty. Trying to protect your poor mother. You can’t do shit, bastard. You are and always will be nothing. One day, my brother and I will run this camp, and we will make sure you stay in that fucking prison. You will die in there.”

Azriel tried to respond, but Laurent’s hold on him prevented it. He turned his head to the side, trying to fight free, trying to do anything, but stopped by what he saw.

Caiden and Balor were a tangle of limbs rolling in the snow. Azriel realized he had misjudged Caiden in how serious he took his training, for he was throwing punches at Balor with the full force of an Illyrian.

_Sometimes, it’s the quiet ones_ , his mother had once told him. _The ones who seem the weakest are actually the ones who should be feared._

Indeed. Caiden was quick and was able to dodge any blow Balor dealt him. But he did not see the leg Balor threw out, knocking Caiden to his knees in a single movement. Then, to Azriel’s horror, Balor unsheathed the Illyrian blade at his back and raised it to Caiden’s throat.

“Focusing on that pretty laundress has really turned your attention away from training, Caiden,” Balor taunted, pressing the blade farther into Caiden’s skin. Blood dribbled in a small stream down his neck, disappearing beneath his leathers. “Perhaps, when we’re done with the bastards mother, my brother and I will have our turn with her.”

Caiden roared, bringing his hands up to pry the blade from his neck. Balor only laughed, efficiently fighting off Caiden’s weak attempt to free himself.

Azriel knew, without a doubt, that Laurent and Balor would kill them. Because they were the sons of a lord, they probably would not even receive any punishment. No one would bat an eye.

He closed his eyes, fighting for each breath. He allowed that deathly calm to wash over him again, calming his mind, his senses. Distantly, he could hear Caiden’s roaring. He could feel Laurent’s hot breath ghosting across his face.

_Never again will I be weak. I have failed and failed. Never again. Never again._

He opened his mind, reaching out to his shadows still dancing at the door. _You said you would protect me. You said no harm will come to me._

_Let us out. Let us help you_ , they said.

Azriel had used his shadows in many ways. He had used them for information and company, but never to harm anyone. He did not even know if they could. It was worth a shot. It was his _only_ shot. His and Caiden’s.

_Help me!_ He cried out. _Help us! I am commanding you to fucking help us!_ He did nothing to hide the desperation, the fear and pain.

He swore he felt a sense of satisfaction radiating from his shadows as they said, _Finally._

The world was immediately covered in a blanket of darkness so thick Azriel could not even see Laurent’s face above him.

Then the screaming started.

Azriel could hear the screaming of the warriors in the sparring rings. The screaming of children and camp mothers working in the camp. Over it all, he could hear Laurent screaming on top of him. He heard Balor’s curses at the darkness surrounding him. Then, to Azriel’s satisfaction, he heard those curses turn into outright cries of agony.

He felt the weight of Laurent’s body be removed as he was ripped away from Azriel by the shadows. _Ripped away._

The world had erupted in a chaos of shadows and darkness. Screams and pain. It was the most magnificent thing Azriel had ever witnessed or heard.

The torment went on for minutes, hours, days, before Azriel finally said, “Enough.”

At his command, his shadows lifted, skittering back to the safety of the cell. _They will never hurt you again_ , they whispered to him.

Laurent and Balor would never be able to hurt him again because, frankly, Azriel had no idea if they would even _walk_ again.

Laurent was lying on his stomach, his blood pooling around him, staining the snow with red. His leathers were torn to shreds, his face and hands bruised and bloodied beyond recognition.

And there, lying in a puddle of his own waste, was Balor. He looked much the same as his brother, with his battered body. But lying next to him was his Illyrian blade. At least, what was left of it. It had been twisted and bent, as if it had been melted down by a flame. Now, it looked more like a horseshoe than a weapon.

Azriel gawked at the sight in front of him, not believing his own eyes. _His shadows had done this. All of this. Holy gods…_

Others in the camp had surrounded them, taking in the scene with wide eyes. They looked at the broken bodies of the two warriors, disbelief crowding their features. Finally, they looked at Azriel, and their expressions as they beheld him could only be described by one word: terror. Pure, undiluted terror.

But Azriel did not look at them, did not care what they thought. He only looked ahead to the male who knelt on the snow, his fingers gripping the snow like a lifeline.

Other than the cut on his throat, Caiden was completely unscathed. Azriel’s shadows had helped him too, it seems. Caiden’s face was full of shock and disbelief. His throat bobbed as he took in the bodies in front of him, his eyes widening as he realized what had happened.

Slowly, he turned his head to Azriel. He raked his gaze up and down Azriel’s body multiple times, as if he could see through him.

Azriel could practically see the realization dawn on Caiden’s face as he said at last, “You’re a shadowsinger.”

Shadowsinger. Yes, that seemed to be an appropriate word for what Azriel was, what he could do.

Azriel said nothing. He only nodded once.

Caiden lowered his head, his black hair covering his brow. He sat back on his heels and murmured, “Mother help us all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, kudos and comments are appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I have so many plans and ideas for this fic! Leave kudos and comments, please! <3


End file.
